I am thisclose to launching a new website. After five years on my own as an independent writer and communications consultant, my business has evolved and so has my message. Please come back soon for a second helping that’s fresher than the first!
My love of Slow Food has apparently rubbed off on my social media. It appears I slow blog too. Fine by me – slow to blog means clients have me jumping (thanks clients!). And a full workload is just what the doctor ordered to keep my mind off this broken foot. My foot injury has put any literal jumping on the back burner and the kibosh on many other activities; however, one thing I can still enjoy is slow food and slow drink. That’s why I’ll be crutching over to John J. Jeffries this Sunday in support of Lancaster Buy Fresh Buy Local and my local food system.
Tickets cost $25 and include the JJJ organic, grass-fed, dry-aged sirloin burger plus cold local microbrew from Stoudt’s Brewing Company. And that’s not all. You’ll also enjoy the sweet sounds of bluegrass with live music by Jeff Bryson and Leo Disanto from Vinegar Creek Constituency.
Reserve your ticket (cash or check only, please) by calling 717-431-3307 or by stopping by John J. Jeffries before the 19th. All proceeds benefit Lancaster Buy Fresh Buy Local educational outreach efforts.
That’s right – it’s burgers, brews and bluegrass…and you!
I’ve snapped 234 asparagus spears from our garden since April 8. I’m a writer not a mathematician, but I track our garden’s harvest like an accountant. Roughly 20 spears make one pound, which means mid-season the yield stands at nearly 12 pounds. I’m convinced the count falls more in the 15-pound range because many spears push a girth of a half inch or more. They are big and a beautiful purple-green.
“Aren’t they woody?” balked a fellow foodie as I bragged about my fatty, phat spears. Not one bit. The most tender, freshest, sweetest fruits and veggies come with love from our garden. That’s why 80 percent of those asparagus spears (187.2 spears for those counting) go on to our plates unadulterated. Wrapped in foil and tossed on the grill to cook only in the water that clings to them after rinsing, Baer asparagus emerges brilliant green with a mild crunch and super sweet.
Sometimes I coat the asparagus with a little olive oil and place directly on the grill, turning every couple minutes for about 10 minutes. Tasty brown bits from the flame speckle the spears to lend an earthy, rustic flavor to their sweetness. Other times, I’ll use a vegetable peeler to shave ribbons into salads or simply crunch the spears raw like carrots for a snack.
If you don’t have a garden, look for asparagus at farmers markets and farm stands, where farmers pick produce market-day or the day before at the latest. Whatever you do, avoid the asparagus from Peru my supermarket currently has on sale during the peak asparagus season in the heart of agrarian Lancaster County, Pa. Like drowning fresh, nutritious asparagus in a slop of hollandaise sauce, that’s just wrong.
Shopping at my supermarket the other day a box of crackers caught my eye. Nabisco Wheat Thins Artisan Cheese Crackers. No, it wasn’t the crunch calling at me from the store’s shelf. The poor use of the word “artisan” barked back at me instead.
First of all, artisan is a noun not an adjective as used in the product’s name. The word artisan means: a person skilled in an applied art; a craftsperson. Crackers made from crafts people? Ewww, gross. The word “artisanal” would have been the grammatically correct choice. So let’s look at what artisanal means: a manner of producing something, such as cheese or wine, in limited quantities using traditional methods. The American Cheese Society’s definition of artisanal reads: …produced primarily by hand, in small batches, with particular attention paid to the tradition of the cheesemaker’s art, and thus using as little mechanization as possible in the production of the cheese.
While I guarantee careful word choice from the crafty marketers at Nabisco certainly comes in to play here, I’d argue use of the word has nothing to do with accuracy of any kind. Messing with consumers’ minds aligns more appropriately.
Nabisco is a subsidiary of Kraft Foods and one of the largest bakeries in the world. Wikipedia states Nabisco produces 320 million pounds of snack foods annually in a 1.8 million-square-foot production facility. Small batches, limited quantities, little mechanization? Reverence to the art and tradition of producing Wisconsin Colby and Vermont white cheddar “natural flavors with other natural flavors” of these cracker varieties? Come on, Nabisco. I’m not buying it.
Once upon a time, in a land not at all far, far away, supermarkets didn’t exist. People grew and raised their own food. They ate seasonally. They preserved yields for winter. Farmers still ebb and flow with these same rhythms. Their doing so makes finding Lancaster County grown and raised foods in winter anything but fairy tale.
My garden currently grows cross country ski trails
I’m not talking about fresh berries, melons, eggplant or corn in February because they don’t exist here. I celebrate these peak flavors during harvest time in spring, summer, and fall. Eating seasonally means respecting winter’s limitations and expanding your menu. Swap turnips for half of the potatoes in gratin, slice parsnips into stew, toss Brussels sprouts with olive oil, salt and pepper and roast at 425° for about 20 minutes.
For more hardy fruits and veggies, fresh lingers longer because they withstand colder temps. Broccoli and cauliflower, for example, can last into November. Many farmers use green houses to extend growing seasons, allowing for fresh lettuces and leafy greens into late fall and even year-round for some growers. I learn much by asking farmers what’s what.
Most local produce available in winter represents varieties that store well. Note the difference between availability verses harvest period. Fruits and vegetables such as apples, root vegetables, winter squashes, and cabbages get harvested in warmer months and preserved in cold storage through winter. The Mid-Atlantic Seasonal Guide lists fruits and vegetables in season or coming from storage for each month. The Lancaster Buy Fresh Buy Local Food Guide helps locate farmers on my route when out and about.
Drying, canning and freezing also go a long way in preserving harvests through winter. Food preservation takes planning and seizing the moment, but not a ton of time. Preservation also saves money. Look for preservation guides online, find local classes on preserving, or ask a neighbor for tips. If that’s too much, many orchards and farms preserve their own fruits and veggies to offer at retail
Lancaster County eggs, milks, cheeses, yogurts, and meat I find readily available in winter. Eggs hatch around nearly any bend; markets, restaurants and even some supermarkets sell Lancaster dairy and meats. When fall livestock butchering occurs, I buy an eighth of grass-fed beef (you can do the same with pig) to stock my freezer for the easiest of winter, local “shopping.”
Bottom line: where there’s a will there’s a way. Keep eyes open, read labels, ask farmers—Lancaster County’s winter foods abound.
Cheese is my vice and farmer’s markets are my love affair. No wonder I’m swooning over Linden Dale Farm’s farmstead goat cheeses and their new stand at Central Market. Their chèvre rocks my world and my Saturday morning omelets. A little goes a long way…the true sign of quality. Garlic and chive tempt me, but I always get the plain because I like clipping and adding my own homegrown herbs. The sweetness of Linden Dale’s mozzarella elevates my Friday night pizza to new heights. And their feta? Well, there’s nothing betta.
Chatting with Mary Mellinger, who owns the farm with her husband, supplies half the fun. Talk of her all-cheese pizza, a layered passion of garlic, chèvre and mozzarella, makes me weak in the knees. She mentions her six children devour the pizza in minutes, a testament to its tastiness. I’ll say “yea, baby!” to her all-cheese pizza, but not her suggestion to birth six kids to manage the volume of food my cooking habit yields.
Linden Dale Farm
127 Herr Road
Ronks, PA 17572
Mellingers2@msn.com
Something beautiful caught my attention: zero commercial packaging. No marketing, no logos, no tag lines, no shady health claims.
Instead, my freezer’s shelves weigh heavy with whole foods harvested from my garden and meats raised on nearby farms. Quart-size bags of blackberries, blueberries, raspberries, strawberries, and wineberries line up alphabetically on the freezer door. Other shelves spill over with summer squash, eggplant, corn, asparagus, and tomatoes. Jars of frozen pesto hold flavors of summer basil for pizza on winter’s cold Friday nights. White freezer paper points to cuts of chicken divided from the whole bird I picked up at the Central Market. Chicken broth made from the neck of those chickens wait to be thawed into soups and stews made fresh from the stove or crock pot. Chops of Ironstone Spring Farm beef from my order of an eighth of a grass-fed steer peek out from under clear vacuum-sealed packs.
Little by little over spring, summer, and fall, this masterpiece came together. My freezer contents don’t represent gobs of my time, just foresight and the sense of urgency behind capturing fruits and veggies at their peak and being on top of fall butchering schedules. This also isn’t representative of gobs of money because growing your own and buying in season or in bulk quantities yields significant cost efficiencies.
Using the freshest whole foods for the most flavorsome yet simple, straightforward meals made from scratch embodies one of the most rewarding ways to live.
What’s in your freezer?
Talk about everyday culinary celebrations—I can’t get enough of my new coffee mug. Same coffee; different cup; completely more delicious experience. My mug infuses the talents of local potter, Phil Garnett, and nourishes my sense of place like the Lancaster County foods lacing my every meal. Each sip imparts energy from the potter’s friendly wife at their cozy shop less than 15 miles from home, clay from the earth on which we survive, Phil’s attention and touch on every piece, and the warm colors as natural as the food my mug holds.
Sense of place keeps surfacing one way or another in my life these days. So does the wonderful word terroir, a French word referring to the general characteristics a locale imparts on the taste of wine or coffee. But terroir‘s meaning goes well beyond wine and coffee, in my humble opinion (or IMHO for you texters out there).
In its summer edition, Edible Chesapeake published an article on grass-fed beef stating, “Indeed, like wine, beef expresses terroir, the influence of its environment on its flavor.” As a kid, my grandmother kept a bowl of hard candies at her house in the hallway at the bottom of the steps. My sister and I couldn’t keep our mitts out of the bowl. When my mom brought home the same exact candies, the taste was uneventful. The “locale imparting taste” on the bowlful of candy in the hall was my grandparent’s circa 1880 farmhouse where my Pennsylvania Dutch grandmother was born, raised and stayed to raise her own family (and spoil her grandkids); a place unmatched.
I wish I could ask my grandmother today about her understanding of the Pennsylvania Dutch word bodegeschmack, meaning “an essence in food carrying flavors of the land.” Same in notion as terroir, bodegeschmack speaks of flavor as a product of specific environment—a unique quality of each and every piece of food just as no two pieces of pottery off the wheel result exactly alike. This is why the act of choosing and eating locally grown and raised foods makes preparing meals a celebration of one’s place on the planet. Mindfulness of this celebration is rewarded with unmatched flavor of meals made from the freshest, simplest ingredients—and a morning coffee ritual offering a culinary celebration worth getting out of bed for.
Once again, my annual vacation to Cape May, N.J. resulted in much needed R and R: reflection and resolution. Rhythmic ocean waves, tidal ebb and flow, cleansing salt air and meals fresh from the dock have netted clarity to right many of my ships adrift at sea. This blog among those left unanchored for far too long.
Kayaking on Cape May's salt water marshes
I now announce a new course of direction for Friday Night Pizza, one that merges my culinary and communication mindsets. One that uses the familiarity of food to bridge understanding of the simple, everyday nourishment corporate communication strategies need to stay fit. I’ve long found satisfaction in helping people understand simplicity in the kitchen results in delicious, healthful meals. Similarly, I’ve long found satisfaction in helping business professionals understand that simple approaches to connecting with target audiences result in sustainable, healthy communication strategy.
Like ingredients, words blend to create endless combinations yielding varying results. Like cooking, business writing requires vision, good taste and creativity, technique and attention to detail. Like a chef, the professional writer has acquired tricks to boil down communication goals—approaches that make workplace communication efforts easier and more effective. Regardless your line of work, everybody communicates; everybody eats. We’re all in the same boat.
And at the end of each work week there’s still Friday Night Pizza to reward a job well done. Whether your Friday Night Pizza is happy hour with friends, movie night with the kids or your favorite take-out, simple celebrations—and simple approaches to work—help us get through our every day.
My new direction for this blog will certainly be tweaked, like every good recipe is. I welcome your thoughts on communication conundrums you harbor and how I can prepare blog topics to your liking.
The ugly green of my picnic table doesn’t look so bad graced with spring’s first spears of beautiful, freshly picked asparagus, now does it? Then again, what doesn’t asparagus complement? As the “Cadillac” of vegetables, to quote a former colleague of mine at Produce for Better Health Foundation, asparagus lends elegance to any dish—breakfast, lunch or dinner.
I’ve been picking our garden’s asparagus for 15 days, and the yield to date is a stunning 113 spears. But that’s nothing. As the sun shines and weather warms, harvest will gain steam as these suckers can leap six inches a day. I’ll literally be picking dawn and dusk to get the best quality spears before they grow too tall. All that asparagus means nary a meal will be absent the Cadillac.
Raw asparagus is new on my menu this year: shaved in salads or cut bite-sized for crudités. I also plan to freeze some spears, which didn’t happen last year. In fact, twice just last week, I’ve heard mention of freezing the tougher ends often discarded during preparation —or fed to my veggie-lovin’ Golden Retriever—to use in soups and stews over the winter. Of course, there will still be asparagus omelets for Saturday breakfast. But it’s simple grilled asparagus that ends up getting made at least three times a week. To me, fresh asparagus minutes out of the garden, unadorned and grilled, delivers the purest of spring flavors. The “recipe” can be as basic as rinsing in water, wrapping the wet spears in foil, and steaming on the grill for about 10 minutes. For foodies looking for a bit more play, I offer another simple asparagus from my recent Cooking Light. I like this because it uses fresh chives—another welcome flavor of spring our garden delivers. The chives combine with the asparagus to bring forward grassy flavors as bright and green as the season…and my picnic table.
Simply Spring Grilled Asparagus
Adapted from Cooking Light
I’ve adjusted the cooking method for the grill. If spring rains put the kibosh on your outdoor kitchen, console yourself with a glass of sauvignon blanc and then bake the asparagus on a jelly-roll pan coated with cooking spray at 400° for 10 minutes or until crisp-tender.
¼ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon ground black pepper
1 pound asparagus, rinsed and trimmed (about 20 spears)
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon fresh chives, chopped
Combine salt, pepper, and asparagus. Wrap entire bunch in aluminum foil. Grill on low, 10 to 15 minutes, flipping every 5 minutes and checking to ensure spears finish crisp-tender and don’t overcook. Place asparagus in large bowl and toss with butter and chives. Serves 2-4.